One Moment, Forever
by TinyStar
Summary: [Complete] A short scene, post Kisangani. Nothing but Carby fuzz!
1. The Promise

**One Moment, Forever**

**Disclaimer: **Carter and Abby aren't mine! Neither is ER or anything related.

**Spoilers:** For anyone who hasn't seen Kisangani. This takes place during and after this episode.

~*~

_Everyone has a picture, Abby, an image which they hold inside – a scene from somewhere in the future which lies suppressed in a seldom visited corner of the mind. It depicts the deepest of desires, all those that are held close, all that is wanted most. Not always apparent, it hides, but given time comes into focus, and once in sharp view it lights a candle in the darkest crevasse of the soul. A burning feeling fuelled by need and want. A hunger satisfied only by attainment. _

_When your picture comes into focus Abby all that you've felt before won't matter. There'll be a calm, a sense of quiet and an absence of hurt and pain. You just have to hold on in hope. Wait patiently for that time to come. One day, in one moment never to be forgotten it will suddenly appear. A silent vision which changes the course of a life forever. Then you will truly be happy, having found the place where you belong._

She sighs, closing her eyes briefly and leaning her head against the corner of her bed. Their bed.  Her heart is still, like the silence in room around her.

She looks down at the photograph in her hands. It edges are softened by the wetness of her tears, worn and torn by the tight grip of white fingers. She could stay like this for hours, slowly tracing his face with her eyes, remembering the sound of his voice, capturing images of how he used to smile mischievously before wrapping his arms tightly around her, holding her close.

He's gone to Africa. Building communities with bricks taken from the walls around her heart. She's alone.  

Unwilling to tear herself away, she takes a last lingering gaze before pulling the little wooden box off her bedside table. Opening it reveals a hoard of memories: childhood necklaces, woven bracelets and scraps of paper – notes from Eric. When things got really bad he used to lock himself in his room. He wouldn't open the door, not even to her, but all requests were slid under the door on pages torn from his school notebooks. 

She doesn't know why she kept them. Even now, his spidery handwriting reminds her of times that she wants so badly to forget. But somehow when she left for Chicago all those years ago she wasn't sure if she'd ever go back to Minnesota. Perhaps it was out of fear, because for all her running away she was still afraid to let go, but now she's glad she has them. Maggie always was Maggie and always will be. She doesn't know how to think of her in any other way. But the handwriting belongs to the Eric she wants to remember, the brother she once knew, laughed with, talked to. The boy with the cheeky grin who cheered her up when Maggie's world came crashing down and she was left to try and pick up the remnants.     

Her diary with a lone dried flower carefully pressed between its pages lines the bottom of the box. She rubs her fingers along the swirling impressions on its cover. Hesitantly the photograph is placed back in its place - beneath the flower for safe-keeping. Until tomorrow night at least. The lid slams shut and she stares around the room, momentarily lost.

She pulls herself to her feet and slides slowly in between the sheets. She snuggles down into them, flinching under their coolness until gradually body heat warms them sufficiently for her shivering to cease.

Sleep won't come easy. Its been the same every night since he left. She tosses, turns and then faces the ceiling, before rolling over and resting her head on the side of his pillow.

Sometimes it's as if he's still there. His scent still lingers on the cotton of his pillow. In the gloaming she spies his dressing gown, untouched, strewn across the back of a chair. A pair of shoes standing idly underneath. So many things, so many words left unsaid, sentences unfinished. If he were here she'd say them aloud and make sure he listened. She'd tell him the truth, how much he means to her, how she's feeling without him and if he walked away then at least it would be in the knowledge that she cares.

Except that he's already gone. Already flown away, with barely an exchange or a goodbye and she's left hanging – too afraid to move in case he pushes her away again. 

In the middle of the night she dreams. Imagines the door opening and him slowly making his way over to her side. She sees him pause, before stumbling blindly through her apartment, tired and jet-lagged. It's real to her. She smiles in her sleep as his lips gently drop a kiss on her forehead. In the dull lamplight his hands stroke her cheeks, tenderly so as not to disturb her slumber. She moves her legs to make room at the end of the bed for him to sit down. His eyes savour her sleeping form and he watches, transfixed by the sound of her breathing. She sighs and her hand brushes the length of the bed beside her. It's empty.

Morning comes and as the cold, hard light of day enters her room she heads for the shower, determined to wash away the illusion of the previous night. The freezing water refreshes her tired body, wakening her and willing her to face the rest of the day. She listens to it patter against the plastic of the shower tray, concentrates on the gurgling noise as it flows down the plug hole, swirling. 

She stands unsure, as though waiting for something to dictate her next move. But nothing happens and so she wraps the towel around her body. 

His dressing gown still lies abandoned and lost. She smiles as she gently caresses its smooth silk fabric. He may drive a jeep, but when it came to his wealth, that dressing gown was a dead give away. Of course she never told him so, because it was those little things which made him so special to her. Sometimes she even frightened herself with her ability to notice such trivialities, but in the end it always boiled down to the fact that they brought out the best in one another. Or at least she thought they did. And that was what made losing him so hard.

She swallows. With Richard there was anger, hatred, but with Carter there's none of that. Just hurt and rawness and an undeniable sense of loss. She was always the one who did the running away. It was the easier option. The one which left less room for thinking, for wondering. Now she's the one left behind. It's out of her control. Would he return? She never returned. Not to Maggie nor Eric in Minnesota. Why would he want to come back to her anyway. 

"Stop with this whole routine, this whole fatalistic, black cloud, nothing good is ever gonna happen routine"

She realises that she can't. It's a comforting habit. She remembers telling Maggie that it's scary to hope too much. The higher you aim, the harder you fall. She never had any dreams as a child, didn't see herself as anything special. Goals reached arose from split second decisions, not because of a life-long ambition. Of course there were times when she was happy, but she was never complete.

The dressing gown envelopes her tiny body. It trails along the ground, but she fails to notice. He's surrounding her. She clutches it to her tightly, eyes shut and inhaling. 

A tall figure stands alone leaning against the kitchen doorway.

She freezes as she catches sight of him and they remain motionless, eyes searching as time stands still. She wonders if he is there, if her silent prayers have been answered or perhaps it's a mirage, a cruel imagining.

Her hands drop slowly to her side as he straightens, removing his weight from the door jam. It is him. She doesn't want to make the first move, but finds herself treading cautiously towards his brooding form. Step by step, inching her way closer until she can feel his breath on the top of her head.

She looks up to meet a pair of glassy brown eyes. He's different somehow. Changed. Not in appearance, but in soul. She can tell. She can feel it. He's world-weary, troubled. She's drawn to his eyes and the harrowing story within them. Whatever he has experienced she can't pretend to know, but she can try to understand. 

His arms are folded, the last barrier between them. He always comforted her. Now it's her turn. She raises her hands and slips them gently into the crook of his elbows, prising his arms apart. She rests her head on his chest and holds him to her.

His arms flail loosely by his side, as though surprised by her sudden gesture, but eventually they too become involved and she feels his hand tenderly rubbing the small of her back, his lips upon the top of her head. 

He's crying quietly. Her body jolts with each gentle sob. Softly she pulls away and puts a hand to his cheek. His tears collect on her fingertips and she wipes them away slowly. He smiles down at her and reaching in sweeps a stray piece of hair behind her ears. She pauses, suddenly aware of the tears that are trickling down her own cheeks.

They stand together. Each tucked away in the others embrace. It's a moment, a scene that will last forever. She captures it and holds it and everything at once becomes clear. Whatever she had thought or felt before no longer matters. She's found that place, that space in time with her name on it. It's here that she belongs - with him, around him. And there's nowhere else she'd rather be. When he's ready they'll sit down and talk and until then she'll wait for him. 

He returned. She stayed. But they were always together.

_When your picture comes into focus Abby you'll know. You'll  feel something stir inside of you, something different. It will creep upon you silent and gentle, but so powerful it will take your breath away. You'll never be left wondering, you'll never be alone again because in that instant, when it arrives, you'll finally know why life is worth living and you'll always be able to say that you have loved._


	2. Speaking from the Soul

~*~

He brings his hands to rest above her collarbone, fingers tenderly caressing the delicate skin below her chin. She whimpers slightly under his touch . Her eyes still burning from unshed tears stare silently into his and he returns her gaze.

And in that moment there's just the two of them. Drowning in the morning light which bathes the room. 

He's dreamt of her. Dreamt of this. Seen her face in every corner and bend in the road on his journey home. On his journey there.

Running away seems to have brought him closer to her. Stealing minutes here and there to think about her, wonder what she's doing, if she's missing him as much as he misses her. It was perturbing to find that in trying not to be with her she had proven to be his only consolation.

Her smile, her face, the way she pouted when he teased her. All simple images which haunted his nights. Or so he was certain, until that instant when he realised she was saving him again. Keeping him sane in the surrounding turmoil. If only all his ghostly images were as kind. 

_The gun, in all its steely calibre was pressed deep into the contours of my forehead. Coldness digging its way relentlessly through whatever sensation was left in my skin. I'm dying. I'm going to die. Could they not see I was only here to help? That I had done no wrong? Frozen. Numb. Stuck to the spot, in this one moment that seemed to long outstay it's welcome._

She's so much more beautiful than he remembers.

He's unsure, afraid to let his fingers graze her cheek. Unwilling to hurt her more than he already knows he has. But somewhere between each choking sob she's letting him in.

Showing him her vulnerability unconcealed, naked. Trusting him once again.

Fingers smoothly entwine as he takes her hand in his. He brings it to his lips and places gentle kisses along the length of her trembling fingers.

She's yielding to him. Leaning her head into that special place on his chest. That place reserved for her alone.

Searching. Seeking comfort in the one person who can reassure her. This man, who from the moment he entered her life had changed it beyond recognition. Who had shown her a brand of love never before experienced. Someone willing to give more than he was ready to take.

He's her friend. Her confidant. Her lover.  But he's so much more than that. 

Together their lives are woven into an intricate design. He's become a part of her. A part so great, so fulfilling that when he leaves she's ripped apart at the seams too. 

He reciprocates, placing his hand on her head and smoothing her hair in circular motions. Rocking her back and forth. Soothing her troubled mind. Pressing her against his chest so she can feel his heart racing.

She's secure. Blanketed in his arms. Wrapped up in his dressing gown.

Tiredness seeps slowly from his weary sides. Ever the seductress, she leads him over to the bed, but this time not in search of that kind of fulfilment. She fluffs her pillow with gentle, precise movements before lowering his head down slowly onto it, lifting his legs up and in between the sheets.

The dressing gown drops to the ground as she lies down beside him, her hand brushing against his warm skin. 

Her touch though delicate, with the lightness of a breeze, is enough to send quivering impulses through the heart of his being. She's making her presence felt and he's revelling in her sweet caresses. Glad to be home. Relieved that she's waited for him.....

_I didn't ask for this. A life, my life was playing in the background. Voices. Gamma, Bobby, Lucy. And then Abby. And I cursed myself for my selfishness. My stupidity. I remembered her expression. Her concern, fading to disappointment, then to hurt. Hurt. I had hurt her. I had come here as if to make a grand gesture. Helping people. It's what I do. What's the sense in that if I hurt the one person who means anything to me?_

_Oh God, Abby. What have I done? _

"John, - "  She murmurs softly. She's waited so long to say his name. To form those syllables in her throat and hear them resonate slowly about the room.

He reaches up to her and puts a finger to her lips, gently quelling her desire to speak.

"Sssh, Abby, I want – need – you to listen to me. Just hear me out. Please"

His voice is pleading, although it has no need to be. She understands. Her head sinks down into the pillow beside him and she nods.

"I just – I'm sorry."  His voice is a whisper, barely audible, as though he's afraid it will crack if he speaks any louder.

"I'm sorry I ran. I was angry with you. Angry that every time I want you there something happens and you have to leave. But I understand. I do understand that it's not a thing you have control over and that I have no right to make demands on you."

He stops momentarily and swallows. Carefully, he studies each aspect of her face. She gives away nothing.

"I wanted to push you away, because I felt that you were pushing me away. But in the end I couldn't. I couldn't so I ran. It was easier. For you, for me – or so I thought, but then I realised that no matter how far or fast I run I can't escape myself. Or my thoughts. My thoughts of you."

She trails the back of her hand gently down his face, then returns to his forehead, smoothing out his furrowed brow with her fingertips. She catches his eye and stops abruptly. Something within them calls her. They are opened wide, bare and she realises that she's seeing right down deep into his soul.  

"Abby, I can't even remember the first time I spoke to you because I feel as though I've known you forever. No-one has ever touched my life the way you have and should you never want to speak to me again I want you to know that I - " 

" – love you." She finishes with him. They utter the words together, their voices blending in perfect unison. 

He stares at her in surprise. In wonder. His eyes water, but he's too overcome to wipe his tears away. She looks down but then straightens her head to continue emotionally.

"I – I didn't want you to think I'm saying it because you said it first. I want you to know that I mean it. Now and always. I made a vow that if you came back to me that I would tell you that you mean everything to me. You make me feel complete and......"

Her voice cracks. She's gasping, trying desperately not to sob, to finish what she's saying although her body is shaking with the effort. To say what she feels and make him listen. It's what she's been planning to do ever since he left and now that he's back she's so overwhelmed she can barely breathe.

"Sssh." He leans over and scooping up her tiny body, lets her tears fall to form delicate patterns upon his chest. She quietens, soothed by his embrace.

Breathing in heavily, determined, she continues.

"And when you left I just – I felt so alone"

She shoots him a wry smile. She's wringing her hands together. If she wasn't lying down she'd shrug. Finally she's taken all her feelings and lain them out, exposed, for him to peruse.

He opens his mouth but before he speaks she cuts him off.

"I mean – I'd never felt like that before. Well I mean, I had, before I knew you. But I didn't realise it. Maggie, Eric. They were all I knew and I didn't mind. I thought life was supposed to feel like that. I didn't know any different. Until I met you - "

She sighs.

"What I mean is I don't want to go back. I don't want you to leave and I don't want to think that I've lost you."

Her mouth shuts with a gritty ferocity. Tensed, as though she's expecting him to laugh. To take these precious words and throw them back in her face. To strike her down like so many have done before.

But he smiles. Smiles and gripping her hand tightly, places it over his heart.

_I want to tell her how sorry I am. I don't want to die without telling her how important she is to me. I want to tell her I'll never leave again. I don't want to leave any stone unturned, any path untravelled in my search to find the right  words. If I ever come out of here alive I'll say it aloud. And make her listen. And if she walks away, at least it will be in the knowledge that I care._

"You haven't lost me. Abby, in all my life I've searched to find someone who I can share everything with. There's always been this space, this place in my heart for the right person. And now that I've found you, I'm not planning on ever giving up on us. On what we have. It's too special for that. You're too special for that."   

He grins and leaning over, tickles her slightly. She giggles with unforeseen girlishness and holds his wrists in a vain attempt to make him stop.

"So I take it I was always part of your master plan then?" 

She winks at him playfully, poised in anticipation of another frenzied tickle attack. 

"No, Abby – "

He falters, his voice becoming faint and serious. She loosens her grip on his wrists, holding her breath as she feels the gap in his response. He waits until she faces him - her eyes searching his - and then he answers in a hoarse and gentle whisper  –

"You _were_ my master plan." 

There's an eerie silence, broken only by the explosive crackle of electricity as their bodies touch in gentle harmony. Outside the rain plays a haunting melody as it brushes the windows of the room, watching over the place where the two lovers lie entwined.

She gazes into his eyes to see not only her reflection in them, but her image, engraved carefully on his soul to be treasured forever. 

And the wonder of it all, is that when he stares back at her, he sees an empty space now filled.

He's there.

And the sweet smile spreading across her face tells him he'll never leave again.

For he has found the paradox, that if you love until it hurts, there can be no more hurt, only more love.

This he sees. This he feels. This he'll keep for all of time in the little wooden box inside his heart. And in years to come he'll open it, unwrap it's silken contents and recall this sacred moment. 

So many people have walked in and out of his life. Some stayed, some tarried a while before going. But she's left her tiny footprints upon his soul - not upon leaving, but upon making her journey into his heart. 

Where she belongs.

**Authors Note:** Hell, I know I'm no good with fuzz. Which is why this is my final chapter. I found it a challenge to write – that's code for incredibly difficult :) – but I hope that it isn't too obvious.

"I've found the paradox, that if you love until it hurts, there can be no more hurt, only more love." is a quote from Mother Theresa.

Thank you so much for reading and hugs to all of you who wrote such lovely reviews for my last chapter. I much appreciated them. As always reviews, emails and constructive criticism are very welcome for this chapter.


End file.
